The Mask
by Kimiz
Summary: With each step he took forward with that mask on, a chunk of his soul would fall along the way. Someone like him would have never been able to live like that for much longer. He would quit, while he still could. She... She wasn't like him. She could live with the mask. She loved him for not hating her for it. ShikaTema


A/N: Hey there. This ficlet… This ficlet! I just don't know. It was really tough to write. I couldn't find the words, I left a lot between the lines, it took me hours to find an ending to it and I'm not totally satisfied with it. I hope you catch what I meant in the last line, though. Well, to explain this… I think Shikamaru is not the ANBU type, despite his brains, he's been shown in the anime and mangá as such a family-oriented, true friend kind of person, he taught little kids, he swore to take care of Asuma's kid. I think he's got too much heart to kill in cold blood like ANBU are known to do. I think it would really bother him. While Temari didn't even cry when one of her brothers was dead and the other was dying. I think she has the nerves of steel to be able to handle it. That's just my opinion though.

And a bit of creative liberty here. I'm supposing with all those brains, Shikamaru'd be Naruto's right arm when he became Hokage, chief advisor if you may. And I think it's not completely farfetched that they'd want him to be ANBU first, considering he'd be half-leading a force the size of Konoha. He'd have to know how everything works from every point of view, especially considering how secretive, mysterious and dark ANBU is. It's something to be considered. Do you know what I mean? Hell, I hope you think I make sense, but if I don't, sorry. Bear with me. And by the way, Shikamaru's mask being an owl, is totally Ellisama's in her awesome "In the Shadows" story. Hope you enjoy!

**The Mask**

He slammed his door shut quietly, sighing heavily and leaning against it for a second. His shoulders slumped, his pulled muscles burned like hell and the sharp cuts and purple bruises told a tale of their own. He took the time to regain his composure and get his hands to stop shaking in random spasms. He hated it, he hated every second of it; the before, the during, but most of all, the after.

The burgundy of dry blood under his fingernails sickened him to the core.

A soft tingling in the back of his mind alerted him to her presence. He could feel the soothing flow of her chakra coming from the bedroom down the corridor and it calmed his heart's erratic beating. He could always count on her to be there for the after.

His stomach finally stopped churning, he could finally start detaching himself from the mask.

Slowly, he pushed away from the door, beginning the routine he had created to stay sane. He dragged himself to the shower, ignoring the magnetic pull of her comforting presence so close, calling out to him. He stripped of his stained white armor, wincing at the pain shooting up his sore limbs at each movement. He needed to do this. He needed a few minutes to be able to be himself again. The scorching water made his skin ache, but it felt good, it felt clean.

The disgust and guilt would wash away with the blood and grime.

He let his forehead drop forward, feeling the shock of his fevered skin against the cold tiles of the wall. It had been a while since he had felt anything except for the sweat rolling down his face behind the traditionally carved owl. He told himself not to think about it. Just don't. Swallow the lump in his throat, throw his shoulders back and keep moving forward, because if he stopped to look back he'd never turn around again.

Sometimes it haunted him in his sleep. Sometimes it wouldn't _let_ him sleep.

He brushed his fingers back through his dripping hair, avoiding the blurry image on the condensation covered mirror, sighing once before turning away. He didn't want to see the new scars, he didn't need to. She would find every single one and let him know which weren't there before with her soft kisses. He gripped the towel tightly, drying himself off. He pulled it back and stared at it for a minute. It always surprised him to see it clean when he still felt the layers of dirt accumulating on his body. He rubbed the towel on his head roughly to dry his hair, letting it fall to the floor. He didn't bother picking it up. She would be mad at him in the morning, but not tonight, never tonight, because she understood.

She always understood, that was why he loved her.

He let his feet drag him to where his heart had been pulling him ever since he had stepped out of the house days ago. He gave in to the magnetic force that had always – and would always – attract him to her. He crossed the doorway of their bedroom, stopping for a second to stare at the lump under the sheets. A heap of tangled curls sprawled out on the mattress, a golden shoulder slipping from under the covers, a slender arm wrapped around the other pillow. His pillow. His heart thumped loudly in his chest.

It was good to know it was still there.

He found pants on the dresser and slipped inside them, vaguely aware that they smelled like clean laundry. He walked around the bed and sat down, slowly tugging at the pillow trapped under her arm. Her eyes fluttered open, tired, but wide awake, perfectly aware of every single movement he made. He lied down beside her, stretching on the mattress, giving her a second to curl around him before wrapping his arms around her. He was finally becoming himself again, though not quite yet his normal lazy, smartass, cranky self. That would go back in the morning. For now, he was just a bunch of pieces tied together, waiting for her to sort each one out and glue it back in one piece, just the blank stage between the ANBU and the special jounin after cleaning up the mess. For now, he was simply hers.

He wished he could always be just hers, he wished she didn't have to compete with his village.

He felt the featherlike touch of her fingertips as she brushed them across his chest, caressing, searching, finding. Her lips pressed against one of the burning spots, sealed by the hands of his team's medic and now sealed by her kisses. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He could feel his sanity coming back with every brush of her lips. He pulled her closer, held her tightly, clung to her warmth, and her perfume and her love, because she was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that kept him from losing his mind, the only thing that made him different than those he was paid to chase after.

Without a light, shadows are just abstract darkness after all, and she was the sun that gave him shape.

But as much as she held him, as much as she kissed him, as much as she tried to put him back together, there would always be a piece missing, there would always be an empty space in the puzzle, because with each step he took forward with that mask on, a chunk of his soul would fall along the way. He wasn't made for this, he didn't want to do this. He had never wanted to in the first place, but he had needed it, he had needed to see the world he worked for through all the possible angles, because very soon he'd be the brains controlling a large portion of it and he couldn't afford obliviousness when that time came. So he did it. He went and became one of them. But now...

He had had enough. He had done his job. And now, they would have to let him leave it. Before he lost in the game against the self-destruction.

"I'm going to quit." He whispered to her, voice gruff from the lack of use and the emptiness that hadn't completely left him. She looked at him with those absurdly green eyes. No anger, no disappointment, not an ounce of contempt. Just the same soothing tenderness they always held for him.

"I knew you would." She said softly, with that deep, rumbling voice that had always made her a woman when all the others had been girls. His lips curled in a bitter smile.

"Because I'm a coward." He said wryly, mimicking the words his father had thrown at him so long ago. She smiled then, a small, sweet upturning of the corners of her mouth, leaning her forehead against his, holding his face between her warm hands.

"Because you have a heart."

It wasn't easy to put on the mask. It wasn't easy to take it off. It remained stuck to one's face long after it was off. Some went crazy with grief, some were twisted to the core, some lost themselves in the blood. Someone like him would have never been able to live like that for much longer. He was going to quit. He was going to return the mask. It wasn't worth his sanity, his soul. He'd be one of the lucky ones.

She kissed him then, softly, sweetly and lovingly, even if it wasn't her normal to be so gentle and affectionate. She kissed him for the man he was, for the boy he had been, for the heart he had given her to mend. She kissed him because she knew she could.

He would be fine.

She rolled over in bed, lying on her side as he held her. The swirling tattoo on her arm now hidden by the mattress.

She wasn't like him. She could live with the mask.

She had him given whatever heart she had. She loved him for not hating her for it.

A/N: Get it? Get it? She gave him all the heart she had, so there wasn't enough for her to feel bad about her job in ANBU. Sorry if it didn't exceed expectations. I'll keep trying. Drop a review to tell me what you thought about it!


End file.
